Four Days
by totemo
Summary: Draco is on the run from the Death Eaters, and Harry finds himself looking after him. A strange companionship arises. HarryDraco.
1. Day One

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Harry Potter series, or anything like that, so don't sue me! I'm poor and I'll cry profusely…

Warning: This fic does contain slash (Harry/Draco), though not extreme or immediate. If that doesn't appeal to you, this probably isn't the fic you should be reading right now…

A/N: So it's here- the moment at least one person has possibly been waiting for: the first chapter of my first fic! Oh, the joy that now lights your face, I can only imagine. So yeah, it's a fairly standard one. There should be a fair few plot holes and mundane bits along the way, but let me get in a bit of practice and all! Don't crush my dreams; this is a labour of love. There'll be four chapters and a mini epilogue, probably, and I'll try to get them up regularly. Don't eat me if I don't though, I promise you I try. All reviews and any fan art (be it scribbles or four panels or anything) would be extremely gratefully received! I am a beginner: give me encouragement.

**Day One**

Harry pulled himself out of bed, scrabbling for his glasses on the bedside table through a sleepy haze. Muzzily, he padded his way across the cold, wooden floor and into the bathroom, splashing his face with icy water in a vain attempt to wake himself up. Staring blearily at his dazed and dripping reflection in the mirror (which said "you _still_ look like a mess," unkindly), he thought vaguely that it wasn't all that surprising that he was a little tired out.

After the traumatic events at the end of the sixth year, Harry had seemed to become someone else. His mood fluctuated daily, and he seemed to have four default moods: hatred for Voldemort, Snape and all the other Death Eaters; a burning passion to complete the work he and Dumbledore had begun; utter terror at his seemingly futile mission and the prospect of losing more people, and a whole jumble of emotions about Draco Malfoy.

On the whole, he loathed him and thought him a coward, but a small part of him whispered, _but he was trying to save his parents. If you had the chance again, wouldn't you? Could you live with yourself if you let them get murdered? Besides, Dumbledore forgave him… Dumbledore was kind, he understood…_

Through it all, he felt an underlying loneliness- no, desolation- and cold terror at the idea that what everything boiled down to was murder. He would have to kill Voldemort, or Voldemort would kill him- thereby condemning everyone Harry cared about to death, too.

But right now, he just felt _tired_. It was quite easy to rationalise; after all, the celebrations at Bill and Fleur's wedding had lasted until the day before last. Then yesterday, while internally nursing a headache and hangover, he'd tried to help everyone tidy up a little.

Of course, Mrs. Weasley had fussed and told him to take it easy, but he had a vague feeling that doing something might make him feel a little less nauseous. Besides, he couldn't tell Mrs' Weasley that his current state was due to six shots of fire whiskey the previous night… how he had survived he may never know. However, when he rushed off to be sick at the sight of the kitchen, she decided he really shouldn't help.

Everything had culminated in Ron proposing the two of them go off to Diagon Alley a few days early. He himself wasn't looking to great either, and Harry was sure he simply didn't want to be around when Mrs. Weasley discovered who was responsible for the utter devastation in the living room- the result of all the gnomes Ron had been dared to catch being released by Fred and George, and chased by an utterly insane Crookshanks. The sofa may well never be the same again, as far as Harry could tell. Anyway, Harry decided that it was a brilliant idea, as he was desperate for a change of surroundings.

However, when they were at the fireplace, just about to leave, Ginny came rushing in. Harry still felt decidedly strange around her, but they'd both been decidedly friendly- and no more.

"Ron," she gasped, "you can't go. It's Hermione- she's ill." Ron's eyes widened.

"Ill? How? Is it serious?"

"We don't know. It seems that she ate something bad just now, like she was allergic to it, and she's gone all odd. Maybe she's gone into anaphylactic shock or something? Or… or it was poisoned?"

Everyone stayed quiet for a few seconds, then Ron said very quietly and steadily, "Harry, you can go on ahead if you want. I'll probably join you in a few hours- it's not like we won't be able to treat her or anything, but I can't just go…"

"I understand. I'll make sure Tom keeps the room for you," replied Harry. Everyone knew how much Ron cared about Hermione- it had been clear for a long time now- and vice versa, and there were even bets on how long it would be before one of them confessed it. Harry had been a good enough friend not to place one, though. However, at this moment he was fighting that loneliness inside himself again. He couldn't forget how Ginny had only asked Ron to stay. It was as if he wasn't needed.

Harry stepped towards the fireplace, and said, "Contact me if there's any change of plan, okay? And… I need to know what happens to her." _Don't forget me_ said that small voice again.

Ron nodded, and Harry smiled at the two Weasleys as he stepped into the green flames and shouted "Diagon Alley!" The spinning of the flames did little to settle his stomach, and Ron's arrival later that night hardly calmed his spirits, either.

Or rather, Ron's head's arrival.

Harry got the shock of is life when he heard Ron say, "Oi! Harry!" and he turned to see merely his friend's violently orange head in the grate (clashing horribly with the flames).

"Jesus!" he exclaimed.

Ron looked puzzled.

"Who?"

"Uh, never mind." Harry replied, before continuing, "I take it you're _not_ joining me?"

"Um, no. It's okay; Hermione _did_ only have an allergic reaction, to one of the more unusual ingredients in one of Fleur's dishes. She was eating some leftovers for lunch and… yeah, you get the picture. She's fine now. Mum fixed her up with a really nifty spell, and she's taking all these potions."

"So if she's alright, why can't you come yet?" asked the lonely, slightly selfish and afraid part of Harry.

"Well…" Ron looked a little bashful. "She's a little bit fragile- it must be an effect of the treatment, she's not normally like this- and she kind of mumbled to me that she really wants me to stay with her and that she, um, kind of likes me and stuff." Harry internally wondered who'd won the bet. Ron continued, "Like I say, it must be the potions."

Forcing himself to smile, Harry said, "Oh, great! Hey Ron, didn't I tell you that you had nothing to worry about with her?"

"Yeah, I guess you were right," came the bashful reply.

"Look, I don't mind. Really. There's plenty to keep me occupied here for a good while, and I've already unpacked- I'm not coming back Ron! It would be stupid, as everyone's coming here in four days anyway."

"I suppose," replied Ron, uncertainly. "Well, if you're sure…"

"I am," said Harry, firmly, "and I'll see you in a bit. Bye!"

"Okay. See you, mate. Bye!"

Ron's head disappeared from the fire, and Harry went to his room for an early night. He passed his still unpacked suitcase, and sat on the bed.

As if he'd wanted to go back to a house where everyone was still celebrating a marriage, and hang out with a brand new couple. It wasn't that he wasn't happy for them- quite the opposite- but it just felt like the world was rubbing it in his nose a little. _You can't have this, _it was saying. _You can't have this in case you hurt the one person you most care about protecting. Can you honestly think of anyone you would wish that on?_

There was no way Harry could have that, he knew- there was no-one with a life so bad it couldn't get worse and more dangerous with him in it. His mind flashed back to Ginny, and he ached at the memories he had. She was too good for him, too happy, and too easy to hurt.

He pulled off his glasses, lay back on the pillows and fell asleep, without even changing welcoming even the temporary release of sleep.

That morning, after changing and grabbing some tea and buttered toast for breakfast, Harry strolled into Diagon Alley. He wasn't quite sure what he should do with himself, so strange was it to be there, knowing he wasn't returning to Hogwarts after a few days. It got even stranger when he met people who would be.

He was just wondering whether he should drop by Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes and say hi- Fred and George had had to return almost immediately after the wedding- when he heard a familiar voice behind him calling, "Hey! Harry!" He turned around and saw Parvati Patil running towards him.

"Oh, hi," he replied. "How've you been?"

"As good as can be expected, I guess," she said, smiling weakly. "I mean, given the… circumstances."

"Is everyone okay?" Harry asked, struck by how standard this question had become now Voldemort had returned. Parvati smiled again.

"Yes, they're all fine. My dad was hexed a few weeks ago, and he had to stay at St. Mungo's for a while, but he's fine now. They're all waiting for me, actually. I'd better go. But, well, it really was great to see you, Harry. Padma would say hi, too, except she's not with us at the moment." She gestured at a nearby shop.

"Yeah, it's great to see you. Have a good day, okay? And say hi to Padma from me."

"Alright. I guess I'll see you around then, Harry. And…" she spoke now quietly, unable to meet his eyes. "Thank you. For everything." She smiled at him once more- a real smile this time- and ran back to join her family. Harry could only think to himself how glad he was that she hadn't said 'see you in school', because he wouldn't know quite how to reply to that.

They walked off, and Harry couldn't help but notice the slight limp her father now had. He hadn't been able to stop Voldemort yet. He felt responsible in some small way for her father's misfortune. And yet, she had thanked him.

Suddenly, Harry didn't feel like entering the joke shop. He had to do something.

Harry walked into Borgin and Burkes, hoping against hope that his simple glamour had worked sufficiently. The Ministry had bigger concerns than underage magic in these sorts of times, but Harry wasn't going to return to school anyway- besides, he would be seventeen in a couple of weeks. He sincerely hoped no one would call him up on his use of magic; a court order would be most inconvenient at this time.

His mind turned to more important matters. For example, why was he even doing this? It was so risky, and he didn't even know if it would be at all useful. But he had to try something, _anything_, to get some information, even if it was just looking around to see if there was some object which could give him a clue as to what one of the remaining Horcruxes was, or hoping vainly that he would be able to inconspicuously ask the shopkeeper if he knew anything about Draco Malfoy. Harry hadn't forgotten that Slytherin's locket had been sold to Burke by Riddle's mother, Merope, either.

So, he entered the shop, allowing the bell to tinkle quietly- and, Harry didn't know how, somehow menacingly- as the door closed behind him. He was certain it wouldn't alert Mr. Borgin to his presence for the simple reason that he wasn't there. After a moment of puzzlement, it occurred to Harry that he would probably be in the back room. As if to prove him right, the man's oily voice suddenly emanated from through the half open door behind the counter.

"You do realise what you could be doing by coming here, I assume. I could turn you in to either side, and I assure you it would be for an extremely inviting number of galleons."

Harry tried to keep up his appearance as a customer, perusing the shop for any potentially enlightening items. However, when he heard the voice that replied, he couldn't help but freeze where he stood, breathing fast and shallow, heart somewhere in the region of his throat.

"Of course I am aware of the risk, Mr. Borgin" the slow, drawling voice was saying, "But I am also not a fool, or as outright stupid as you appear to think I am. I know very well that you cannot ingratiate yourself in that manner with either side. If you offer me to the Dark Lord, and the Ministry find out, I'm sure all the favours you've accumulated will suddenly and miraculously disappear; your shop will be closed down, all its dark objects confiscated. Guidelines have been awfully strict recently, wouldn't you agree?

"However, offering me to the Ministry or suchlike would be very foolish indeed. When the Dark Lord found out- as you're doubtless aware he would- he wouldn't be best pleased with you, now would he?"

Harry grasped the side of the cabinet in front of him, struggling to take in the fact that _he_ was here, the person Harry had thought about almost non-stop over the previous weeks.

The familiar voice continued, "So obviously, the wisest choice would be to pay the highly reasonable sum I've asked for this exceedingly rare object, and pretend you never saw me."

Seized by a sudden need to see him, to _make sure_, Harry swung his invisibility cloak out of his bag, pulled it close about him, and surreptitiously entered the back room. The greasy Mr. Borgin was on one side of the small space, and Harry tuned into his speech mid-sentence.

"-well, I shall pay you 125 galleons for it, and not a knut more. Don't even consider haggling; you situation is still precarious."

The pale, sharp-featured boy who handed over the antique-looking crystal bracelet with an amused sneer could be no one but Draco Malfoy.

He took the bag of money Mr. Borgin had just counted out with a smooth, "Pleasure doing business with you," sweeping out of the room as though the conversation he'd just had had been entirely natural.

For his part, Harry was stunned. He'd assumed he'd have to search for weeks to find any trace of Malfoy's whereabouts, yet here he was. But what was he doing, selling jewellery at such a time? Mr. Borgin was, surprisingly, the one to answer that question.

"I can sell this for a bare minimum of 150 galleons, after haggling," he murmured, privately. "That's a 20 profit. Money does indeed make the world go 'round…but even that sum won't let you run far enough, boy. No amount will."

Suddenly, Harry realised: why Malfoy needed the money so badly; why Borgin had threatened him with being "turned in"; why even now Malfoy was pulling his hood close about his face, hiding his easily recognisable features.

He had run away.

But what were the implications of this? He would have to join their side, obviously. Harry shuddered, with surprising emotion, at the memory of Lupin's cold reaction to the death of the deserter Karkaroff, who feared each side too much to join either. _"I'm surprised he stayed alive for even a year after deserting the Death Eaters; Sirius's brother Regulus only managed a few days."_ How long had it been now since Malfoy had fled Voldemort?

Harry rushed from the room, causing Borgin to turn in surprise at the sudden draft. By that time, Harry was pulling himself through a closing door behind Malfoy, with a surprising sense of urgency. Of course, he reasoned, he couldn't just let Malfoy go. That was it. He wasn't worried or afraid for him in the slightest.

To Harry's surprise and relief, Malfoy made for Diagon Alley. When they were in the open Harry removed the charms and pulled off the cloak, careful no one saw him materialise out of thin air.

Suddenly, he saw his chance. Malfoy was just passing the mouth of another small, hopefully empty, alleyway. Harry rushed forward and grabbed him, pulling him away from the crowds.

"Wha-" gasped Malfoy, before Harry clamped a hand firmly over his mouth, holding his wrist with the other so he couldn't reach his wand. When far enough down the alley, he let Malfoy go- who promptly turned to face his kidnapper, hood falling back to reveal that familiar face, now masked with fear.

"Don't worry, I have no plans to harm you, Malfoy," Harry said at once, holding his wand out to the side, in plain view Malfoy looked understandably suspicious.

"What do you want, Potter?" he asked, highly wary and evidently confused.

Never letting his gaze drop, Harry said simply, "I was on the tower. I know you weren't going to kill Dumbledore. I know he was going to help you, and though a large portion of me still wants to hurt you very badly for what you let happen-" he paused momentarily, "I know you need a lot of help right now."

He tensed, expecting Malfoy to attack him, or at the very least to question him, or refuse his help. Instead, his silvery eyes widened. Then, he appeared to relax, and said, "Whatever else you may be, Potter, you're not a liar. Moreover, I don't suppose I'm in any position to refuse any help. I assume you've figured out what I've done, then."

"Basically. In the last five or so minutes." Harry drew a breath, and said, "You've left the Voldemort and the Death Eaters, and you're on the run. You're by no means therefore 'good', of course, but I have to tell you that your best option is to join us. We can protect you, and without any protection you'll probably be dead in a number of days."

Malfoy nodded, and what little colour there was in his face drained from it. He stumbled forward, and Harry grabbed him to hold him upright. This close, Harry could see the dark rings around the usually composed boy's face, the greyish tinge to his complexion. He couldn't have slept well for quite a while, and the constant exhaustion and fear must have been making him act out of character.

"Come on, I'll get you a room in the Leaky Cauldron," Harry said, pulling Malfoy up so he could almost stand by himself. "Most people there are in the Order- you should be pretty safe. I'll try to make sure no one asks any awkward questions."

With his arm around Harry's shoulder, Malfoy could walk, and they headed towards the Leaky Cauldron. When there, Harry called to Tom that he needed the room next to his for a friend he'd just run into, and the bald man led them, up to it- blessedly asking no questions- before leaving them be.

Laying Malfoy down on the bed, Harry realised he'd never seen him so helpless- except that time Harry had performed Sectumsempra on him, unaware of its effects. He suddenly remembered something: _"There's a chance it may leave a scar."_ Had it? He needed to know.

You look exhausted," he ventured. "Uh, I guess you'll need pyjamas. You can borrow some of mine. Sorry if they're a bit big or anything." He went off to fetch some, as Malfoy mumbled some all but incoherent thanks.

He obviously kept his back turned as Malfoy changed, except when he glanced shortly around- as subtly as possible- to see the damage he'd done.

Across his perfect, creamy skin, Malfoy had a long, jagged scar. The flesh was even paler than his own, and it ran in an uneven line across the whole of his torso. Now he was looking, Harry noticed the much fainter path of a similar wound across Malfoy's face. It felt almost like sacrilege for some reason, and Harry could almost taste the guilt that was filling his chest and throat as he remembered the anguished screams, and the blood. He hadn't really known a person had that much in them.

"Hey, thanks Harry," Malfoy mumbled slowly, sleepily, "For paying for my room and for lending me these and stuff."

"No problem- Draco," replied Harry, wondering why they were suddenly on first name terms. The timing of that thank-you was so ironic, he almost laughed. He continued, "I'll just leave you to sleep, then. Sorry, I don't really know any protective charms or anything. I guess it's better than sleeping rough, and the last place anyone would expect to find you is sleeping next to Harry Potter. Well, next to as in, uh, next _door_ to, obviously…" He tails off, lamely, and Draco gives a quiet, oddly endearing laugh, quite unlike his usual cruel, condescending one. Harry, taken aback once more, leaves for his own room in a state of contemplative confusion.

A few hours later, unable to sleep, Harry found himself back in Draco's room. He seemed unsettled in sleep, as though having a nightmare, and kept opening and closing his mouth, as though silently crying out for help. It reminded Harry of someone.

TBC


	2. Day Two

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Harry Potter series, or anything like that, so don't sue me! I'm poor and I'll cry profusely…

Warning: This fic does contain slash (Harry/Draco), though not extreme or immediate. If that doesn't appeal to you, this probably isn't the fic you should be reading right now… I know, I've said this all before, but anyway!

A/N: So here it is. Chapter two! Insert fanfare here Admirably fast, don't you agree? Thanks to those who reviewed me/ added my story or me as a favourite/ just read the darn thing. It's all very much appreciated. In this chapter, I'm really just trying to cement the relationship between the two yummy boys we all know and love, and put them in some regular situations to see how they do (I'm sounding like Big Brother here, aren't I? In a non-George Orwell related sense, I mean. Do any non-Brits know what that is? Never mind!). I'm pretty pleased with it, all things considered, and would love to hear your opinions! Enjoy…

**Day Two**

The next day dawned crisp and clear, like a day with purpose. Harry, unfortunately, had slept through that time- having finally drifted off at 4am, sleeping fitfully until past 9o'clock didn't even feel like enough. By the time he was conscious, it had clouded over, a lethargic dampness in the air.

Still, the days purposeful air seemed to permeate his sleeping self, as he woke with a clear plan in mind. He would talk to Malfoy, lay out some ground rules- Harry had reminded himself that the boy was not to be trusted; he'd buy him some essential items in Diagon Alley, as Malfoy had near enough nothing with him; he would even try to get some information out of him if there was time. As an afterthought, he supposed he should check Malfoy was okay, and maybe- _maybe_- try to get to know the mooch (as he had clearly become) a little. Maybe. Well, he had to attempt to make Malfoy's company mildly more bearable, didn't he?

However, all of these well-reasoned thoughts were thrown into disarray when Harry knocked on Draco's door and walked into his room.

He wasn't there.

Harry's pyjamas lay folded on the neatly made bed; the bathroom door was ajar, showing an empty room; the window was wide open, a cool breeze penetrating the muggy atmosphere.

Panic filled Harry's chest as his frantic mind ran through the apparently very numerous possibilities of Draco's whereabouts and the reason for his absence.

He ran out of the room and downstairs to the bar, which contained a few people eating breakfast- an old, badly dressed warlock, a pimply young witch, and-

"Draco!"

The boy turned from his solitary meal to look around at Harry. His hair was half wet, sleek strands hanging down past his startled grey eyes, and one hand held a teaspoon poised over a boiled egg.

"Yes?" he asked, sounding highly confused.

Harry ran over to him, grabbing him bodily by the shoulders. He almost shouted, "I was terrified! I thought you'd been abducted by Death Eaters or run away or who knows what, and now I find you… eating breakfast? This is not the time to be eating breakfast, you idiot!"

"Harry, it's half nine."

"That's not the point! Draco, do you have _any_ idea how much danger you're in? I need to know where you are at all times, d'you understand? _Do you_?"

"Okay, I get it!" A shadow of Draco's old sneer returned as he said, "If you must know, I didn't want to wake you- you were sleeping like a baby. I just had a shower, got changed and came down here. As in, _in the same building_, you moron. Calm down, have some food. You're skinny as hell."

"You're no better," mumbled Harry feebly, relief flooding through him at the anticlimax of finding Draco down here with a boiled egg. He sat down opposite him and grabbed a slice of wholemeal. His mind unable yet to return to important things, he dwelled on trivial matters- the cruelness of nature, for example. As Draco's hair dried, it became clear that its sleek appearance was natural after all, and Harry's probably looked three times messier than normal opposite it.

Actually, Draco had been served pretty well aesthetically. Of course, this sort of thought had never crossed Harry's mind before, so he found himself fascinated, even wondering at something as trivial as the length of his pale eyelashes. Draco's eyes rose and met his own, quite unexpectedly.

They looked at each other for an indefinitely long moment, green eyes to grey. Harry couldn't quite bring himself to break the silence, he didn't know why, so it stretched on.

"Harry-"

"Oh, just get a room," sighed the pimply witch, slouching past them.

Their gazes snapped apart, embarrassed- she _clearly_ had totally the wrong idea.

"Actually," retorted Draco, "We have two, you old hag."

Harry laughed, surprising himself, and Draco smiled at him mischievously.

Considering they'd loathed each other for six years, the two got on surprisingly well that day. Harry couldn't bring himself yet to dwell on anything too serious, so focussed on his earlier afterthought of getting to know Draco a little.

Having laid out his plan of action to Draco- namely, go into Diagon Alley, buy things- Harry was feeling very superior, and totally in control of the bizarre situation, thank you very much. This feeling rather dissipated when he made a very simple mistake, which Draco was more than happy to point out.

As Harry made to tap the bricks and enter Diagon Alley, Draco grabbed him by the arm, hissing, "Have you gone completely mad?" in a startled manner.

"Um, no?" Harry retorted, in as sure a voice as he could manage. "Why?"

Draco sighed, letting go of Harry's arm, moving his hand instead to his wand.

"You and I are probably at the top of the Dark Lord's Most Wanted list right now. So, naturally, it would be incredibly stupid to step into a bustling street, not full of people who are on your- _our_- side like the leaky Cauldron is, without at least simple charms to allow us to avoid detection." Harry didn't really feel like admitting that that was what he had done so far, as it did seem more than a little foolish now Draco mentioned it.

"So-so unless we're disguised, one of Voldemort's- oh, get a grip- one of Voldemort's little cronies could spot us and tell him at once? Which would be very stupid of us indeed?" he enquired.

"Obviously," Draco replied with a derisive, if somewhat half-hearted, sneer. He murmured something under his breath, and Harry found his eyes involuntarily slide off him. They returned when he really tried to look at Draco, but it was still a very strange sensation. Still, it seemed, like muffiliato, like one of those spells you wouldn't really notice you were affected by unless you totally concentrated on it.

"Wow, what's that spell? It's such a good idea!" exclaimed Harry, perhaps somewhat childishly, for Draco took the opportunity to laugh.

"I would have thought you of all people would know impario, Harry," he sniggered. "Look, just point the wand at yourself and say the incantation. Honestly, we learned this in _second_ year. I suppose you were doing one of your regular stints in the hospital wing, or were off gallivanting about with Weasley or suchlike."

Resisting the impulse to argue, Harry pointed his wand at himself and muttered, "Impario." He noticed Draco's eyes slide off him, seemingly of their own accord, then back again after a few moments.

"As you can see, the charm can be overcome with little effort," Draco explained, "But it's more than adequate for our purposes. Besides, any powerful magic would draw too much attention too us."

Finally ready to leave, Harry tapped the wall with his wand, and they entered Diagon Alley.

As they wandered through to Diagon Alley, they chatted about Quidditch- and how much they missed it- school- and how strange it seemed without it- and even girls.

"So, I have to ask you this. Did you ever actually go out with Pansy Parkinson?"

"What? No! She's been my friend since I was three years old; it would be like dating a member of my family. Anyway, let's hear your great list of girls. Must have had plenty, what with being famous and all."

Harry scowled, and said, "No, just the two- Cho Chang and Ginny Weasley, who I had to break up with about a month ago. It was far too dangerous for her, all things considered."

There was a momentary pause, then, "Harsh one. I feel bad for you- hey, honestly! So you're not over her yet then?"

Harry frowned at this, genuinely unsure of how to answer. He tried to give some approximation of the convoluted truth.

"No- wait, yes, I am. I don't know, really. I think it's more a longing for the unattainable, if you know what I mean."

Draco looked down.

"I really do. You could say I'm going through the same thing, I think. It's odd, isn't it, how you try to make yourself think that you don't- well, can't- care, but your mind doesn't seem able to convince itself? It's like, it's determined to put you in the worst situation possible. Even the thought that you're putting them in danger can't stop your selfish need of them."

"Wow. Never thought _you_ of all people would empathise with me," said Harry, honestly shocked. "So come on- who is it?"

A hollow laugh, then, "All I'm saying is that it was most unexpected and unwanted, and my father would be highly disappointed."

Draco looked at the confused Harry and smiled, and suddenly Harry's feelings for Ginny seemed that little bit less important, and he felt just a little less empty. Why, he couldn't even explain to himself.

Things continued in this manner for the next few hours, much to Harry's surprise and happiness. After a while buying Draco clothes ("these are so inelegant. Blaise would have a fit."), books ("I need to keep up with my spells. I _am_ on the run you dolt."), and other sundry items, he found himself quite tired out.

"Come on, it's most definitely time for an all-too-late lunch" he said, pulling Draco across the street by his arm, away from the Quidditch shop.

Gazing at the café in front of them, he said, "Florean Fortesque's closed about a year ago, but there's this cool place now." He added in a lower voice, "The witch who runs it is in the Order, so there's no need to worry. But also, she only sends weekly news to- people" He'd been about to say Dumbledore. His grip on Draco's arm tightened slightly. "So basically, no-one needs to be any the wiser about your presence for a bit. She's very trustworthy, and doesn't pass on any personal business of mine anyway."

Draco nodded, and let Harry lead him into the café.

Though Harry missed Mr. Fortesque's ice-cream sundaes, it was definitely good to know he'd be able to have a decent meal without returning to the leaky Cauldron. Sam's Snacks & Sandwitches (wizards seemed to have a thing for alliteration and wordplay, Harry had long ago noted) was a comfortable place to eat, and the welcoming atmosphere was created at least in part by Sam herself.

A delicate, attractive Japanese woman who looked no older than twenty (and kept her real age a closely guarded secret), Sam was as kind a host as you could ask for. As she came over to them, all bows and smiles, even Draco seemed to fall for her warm, adorable brand of charm.

Harry saw the telltale slide of her eyes, away from her customers, then back to them. As there was no confusion in them whatsoever, Harry supposed _she_ hadn't been off gallivanting in second year.

"Hello, Harry! And hello to your attractive friend, too!" she laughed, her slightly accented voice bringing a smile to Harry's face.

"This is Draco Malfoy," he said, "But please don't jump to any conclusions about him because of his name. And, um, I'd appreciate if you didn't tell anyone that he's, uh, staying with me."

"Eloquent as ever," Draco drawled.

Sam's eyes had widened a little at the name, but she smiled once more and said, "Of course not- you know you can trust me! And I trust you, too." Her meaning was clear, and Harry inclined his head slightly by way of thanks for her acceptance.

She led them to a table, and they ordered sandwiches and butterbeers, and sat there talking for a long time- how long they were unsure, as they simply sat and idled away the time with talk and regular refills.

At one particularly strange point in the conversation, the two sat there laughing so hard their sides were aching.

"No, really," coughed Draco through his laughter, "It took me three years to realise that Blaise was gay! I can tell you, it cleared up a _lot_ of things that had been worrying me…"

Harry grinned wickedly.

"Yeah, I'll bet you're just his type."

"His type? Whatever do you mean?" Draco asked, eyebrows raised in an amused manner.

Harry looked thoughtful for a moment, then said, "You know. You're kind of… cute. I mean, underneath all that arrogant Slytherin charm, and that clearly evil sneer of yours, you really are. I, uh…" He looked a little embarrassed at himself. "I just meant that I can't imagine Blaise liking someone, um, y'know, butch or whatever."

Draco just looked at him, eyes wide, face with no trace of as sneer. He looked innocent, sweet and shocked. He looked _cute_, and Harry couldn't tear his eyes away from such an unfamiliar sight. Then, Draco began to laugh once more.

"You should have seen your face," he gasped, when Harry asked what was funny. "You looked like you'd just, oh I don't know, confessed your love to me or something."

There was another one of those increasingly frequent silences, which seemed to be full of something, though Harry could never pinpoint what it was. Less than two days with no one but Draco Malfoy for company, and already he had hardly a clue what to do with himself.

"But either way," Draco continued, "Thanks. I'm not sure, but I think there was a compliment in there somewhere."

Harry grinned again, and said, "If you think being so cute you're probably every gay boy's fantasy is a compliment, then yeah, I guess I was giving you a compliment."

Ducking to avoid Draco's hex, Harry laughed, "Okay, I get it! I'll change the subject. Actually, we'd better go. It's getting pretty late."

He stood to go and pay the bill, but Draco rose and put a hand lightly on his shoulder. Harry's stomach leapt momentarily; it must have been the butterbeers.

"Come on, you've paid for everything today, not to mention forgiving me and, by doing so, probably saving my life. I've got this one." He smiled at Harry, who returned it and nodded, gratefully saying, "Thanks, Draco."

His hand slid gently off Harry's shoulder, and he made his way up to the counter.

Sam smiled at him, and said, "that'll be 9 galleons and 7 knuts- but I'll knock off the 7 knuts for you two."

As Draco handed her the money, she smiled at him and beckoned him in closer. She whispered, "And good luck with Harry - you could be just what he needs right now. I haven't seen him laugh like that before. Judging by the way he acts around you, you could be in with a chance!"

Drawing back, Draco said, "Madame, I am a Malfoy. I have considerably more than 'a chance'. But-" he leaned in briefly once more, "-thanks for the luck!"

He walked back to Harry, and the two left the shop, shoulders almost touching, smiling like they'd been friends for years.

A few hours had passed, and Harry was sitting in his room, stirring a cup of hot chocolate and thinking of Draco. Or rather, thinking of how strange it was that the two of them should get on so well, after so many years of enmity.

However, after the long time he'd been thinking about it so far, he'd begun to conclude that it really wasn't all that weird.

At first, they'd been merely a Gryffindor and a Slytherin, so of _course_ they couldn't get along. Then, they'd been Daddy's Little Death Eater and The Boy Who Lived, leader of Dumbledore's Army, and to try to understand each other would be to compromise who they were- to everyone else, at least.

But what were they now, really? Harry seemed to bring suffering to all those around him, making them instant targets for followers of Voldemort. He couldn't think of himself as The Boy Who Lived any more; it seemed such cruel irony considering how many people had died because of him. Draco had changed sides, renouncing his Death Eater life for reasons Harry didn't even know, and was now in serious danger of his life, so much so that Harry's company probably didn't put him in any more danger than he was in already To both of them, school seemed like another world entirely, another _life_.

This, Harry thought, was probably the crux of the matter. They couldn't live their old lives any more, not now. They could no longer go to lessons and pretend it was peacetime. It seemed such a cruel comfort that Draco was already so in danger that Harry probably couldn't make it worse, and that this sort of life was why they could relate to each other so well. Harry hadn't really had someone he could actually relate to before- like, yes. Love, even. But it wasn't the same as having someone who even has the same look in their eyes as you. He had been so lonely, and the selfish part of him had always wanted someone else who was as much in danger as he was, really.

Harry took a sip of hot chocolate, then set it down once more. He'd been stirring it so long, it was too cold to swallow.

TBC


	3. Day Three

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Harry Potter series, or anything like that, so don't sue me! I'm poor and I'll cry profusely…

Warning: This fic does contain slash (Harry/Draco), though not extreme or immediate. If that doesn't appeal to you, this probably isn't the fic you should be reading right now… I know, I've said this all before, but anyway!

A/N: Woo! Chapter three! This is up earlier than I planned it- I should probably wait for a while, see if I get more reviews, but I've never been the patient type! Still, this speed is quite out of character, so don't get too used to it! Anyway, in this chapter, some pretty interesting stuff happens, and I think the two sort some stuff out. I mean, it was a bit much to hope for them to get along _that_ well all the time, wasn't it? Fear not, all will be explained… By the way, thanks for all the reviews I've been getting! They're a real confidence booster, and I appreciate them all. Any more would be more than welcome! Sorry, I'm waffling a bit. I'll let you get on with the story. Hope you like it!

**Day Three**

After the drama of the previous morning, Harry was a little wary when he woke up. He'd sat up late last night, and he saw as he picked his watch up that he'd overslept. It was 10:27, and Harry had little doubt that Draco would now be enjoying breakfast. He barely seemed to eat, really, but perhaps that was merely from stress or something.

Harry thought distantly of school, and the enormous packages of sweets that Narcissa Malfoy used to send Draco. Would she still care for her traitorous son? Or had he been forced to renounce his familial ties along with Voldemort?

He suddenly recalled a terror-filled voice, tearing through the night. _"I haven't got any options. I've got to do it! He'll kill me! He'll kill my whole family!" _Perhaps Draco had no mother to miss him now. It was a type of loneliness that Harry knew only too well, and he wouldn't wish it on anyone. _Least of all Draco_ interjected that tiny voice inside him.

It occurred to Harry that it was too early for these thoughts. He stumbled out of bed and into the shower as fast as humanly possible. It felt like something had crawled into his throat and died there, vomiting profusely on the way. More worryingly, it felt like that all over. _Definitely_ a moment for copious amounts of soap, he mused.

Having scrubbed and gargled enough to be semi-hygienic, Harry felt able to get dressed. He caught his reflection in the mirror and winced a little. He sighed inwardly, murmuring, "I'm no Malfoy, that's for sure."

He looked a little slouched and awkward, and his black hair was somehow even darker with water. His hand rose automatically, as it always did- wet hair just didn't look the same on him as it did on Draco, he thought, disappointedly.

Still, on the upside, he looked considerably healthier. His skin was tanned and smooth, as opposed to the aristocratic white of a Malfoy, and his body had lines of natural, Quidditch muscle. Actually, Harry thought, Draco wasn't nearly as skinny as he used to be, either. He was sort of lithe and lean- probably Quidditch as well. _These are not healthy thoughts for a teenage boy,_ he reprimanded himself, shaking his head and putting on his glasses.

Harry spotted Draco at once when he was downstairs. He'd barely glanced around the room when he saw that shock of pale hair by the bay window. He sidled over calmly, trying to look like someone who hadn't spent most of that morning thinking about another boy. _Who looks so good today as well_ came that annoying little voice again. Harry was seriously beginning to question his sanity.

It was infuriatingly accurate, though. As he sat down, Harry couldn't help but notice the quiet composure on Draco's face, in the absence of a sneer; his deep grey eyes, mirrors of the heavy sky outside; the delicacy and precision of his hands even as he did something as mundane as raise one in casual greeting.

"Morning," Draco said, bringing Harry blushingly back down to earth.

"Um, yeah, morning," he replied, intelligently.

Draco, of course, gave him a _look_, drawling, "Once more, your eloquence astounds me. I wonder whether you're actually passably fluent in English at times." Harry chose not to reply, and instead reached for some toast off Draco's plate.

"What?" he asked. "You haven't finished, and I can't be bothered to get any more," he said, by way of explanation, for he had received another questioning _look_. "What's the problem?"

Draco actually smiled, saying, "You're such a Gryffindor," as though it was, naturally, a horrifically bad thing.

Harry got on with buttering his toast. Neither of them said anything for a while.

"You know," Harry said suddenly, breaking the silence, "I almost wasn't a Gryffindor. The Sorting Hat said I'd do well in Slytherin."

Draco stared across the table, eyes so wide it was almost comical.

"You- a Slytherin? Never!" he breathed, utterly shocked. "But- well, I guess you've always been a little darker, a little more distant, but- you? A Slytherin? No!" Harry laughed, and Draco looked a little affronted.

"Well, come on," he said, sounding more than a little annoyed. "You're James and Lily Potters' son. I know you've got some connection to Sirius black- don't look so shocked, you do get rather a lot of Harry Potter- oriented information as a Death Eater. He was your godfather or something, right? Either way, all Gryffindors!"

Harry glanced down momentarily, then said, "But it's obvious that a Malfoy would be in Slytherin, right?" Draco nodded, slowly, and Harry continued. "I'm not sure whether you've been told this, or whether a disowned relative is ignored entirely, or you're just too dumb to notice the surname but you're related to Sirius Black. He is- was- your mother's cousin, which would make you, what, his second cousin? Something like that? Either way, I don't think family necessarily determines which house you're in, or he would have definitely been a Slytherin."

Draco looked momentarily stunned, before managing to say, "I- I forgot, I guess." There was another period of silence, then he all but whispered, "I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn't have been so bad."

Harry ate his toast, and said nothing.

It was a Monday, so most of the shops in Diagon Alley were closed- Harry had never actually found out what it was about Mondays, but that was irrelevant. The end result was that there was nothing to do.

It being a relatively cold day, Harry had decided to sit in front of the fire and write a few letters that he should really have done when he arrived.

_Dear Ron,_ the first one began. _How've you been doing? Sure you're ok without me there to hold your hand? Oh, wait- there's Hermione, isn't there. You and I both know that the potions had very little to do with her thoughts on the subject of one Ronald Weasley._

_By the way, has anyone mentioned who won the bet? I'll probably just ask Fred or George about that one._

_So anyway, there's not much to say but I thought I should send you this- Hedwig's always been a fast flier- just to let you know that I'm still fine and at the Leaky Cauldron, and to check that you're all still coming when planned._

_See you soon. Harry._

"What's that all about?" Draco asked, leaning over Harry's shoulder to see the letter, quite shocking him.

"Oh- nothing important. Just a letter for Ron."

Draco looked suspiciously at Harry, and slowly said, "You haven't mentioned that I'm here, have you? I just can't wait to know their reaction and all, but I'd rather _see_ it, for entertainments sake."

Harry held the letter away in a tantalising manner, a small grin on his face. Now he remembered the joys of teasing a Malfoy. He gave a small, evil chuckle, and said, "Maybe I have, and maybe I haven't."

Throwing himself over the back of the ancient sofa -which Harry was sure actually wheezed with the added strain- Draco grabbed for the letter. Clearly not about to give in that easily, Harry made a run for it, around the whole seating area, hoping that his seeker reflexes wouldn't fail him now.

It all ended when he tripped, most spectacularly, and Draco jumped onto him. Sat on Harry's chest, there was nothing to stop him grabbing the letter and reading it in a highly smug manner.

Apparently satisfied with the contents, he gave a small nod and returned the note to its rightful owner.

"The reason I have not yet extricated myself from your person- apart from that most amusing shade of pink you've gone, I'm assuming that's from the constricted airways- is that I must first interrogate you."

Harry gave a small cough by way of reply, but Draco continued, apparently oblivious to the fact that he was currently suffocating the person who was paying for his room.

"Number one," he began, "What is this filth about Granger and Weasley?"

Once again, Harry coughed.

"Very well, I'll move. But no running away."

Draco stood up, dusted himself off, and sat on the sofa, acting as superior as apparently possible. Harry sat next to him, still rather pink. Of course, he agreed with Draco that it was all due to the restriction of his bronchial tubes, and he would recover very soon.

"As I was saying. Number one, what is this filth about Granger and Weasley?"

Harry grinned momentarily in Draco's direction before replying, "Oh my, have your amazing deductive powers failed you? Where has your Slytherin slyness gone? They've liked each other for goodness knows how long, and have finally acted on it."

"I was, of course, aware of their overly friendly conduct, but didn't think it had progressed beyond childish shyness and semi-subtle glances. This is most distressing indeed, but leads quite nicely onto my second question."

He cleared his throat, in a professional sort of way. "Number two, how did this heinous thing occur? Did one or both of them receive a head injury?"

After a minimal amount of glaring, Harry conceded, "No, but Hermione did go into anaphylactic shock. She only told him what she felt after hefty doses of some restorative potions left her a little disoriented. But that hardly matters."

Draco was, by this point, laughing most cruelly, but managed to choke out, "Well, I guess sometimes it takes a truly traumatic event to get someone to act on what they feel. But I mean, really, an allergic reaction? Granger needing to be effectively high to confess? This does not bode well for their relationship at all. Not that I care, of course, but it should be amusing to see."

Harry gave him a little shove, and continued writing his letters.

With hindsight, Harry could see that the events of that evening were probably inevitable, that him and Draco getting on so well couldn't last indeterminately. Nevertheless, at the time, all he knew was that he didn't want it to happen.

The end of the day had started promisingly enough, all things considered. Some of the letters Harry had been writing had been the kind he had been struggling with all summer, the kind that he had to write but didn't want to. They were generally concerning one of two things: any clues about the horcruxes, or the whereabouts of people who they really wanted to join the Order. Of those they'd found so far, three had been dead.

Such a thing can be quite defeating, but Harry had learned to cope enough now that it hadn't really affected him as the evening drew in. In fact, he was almost happy. However, he then received a letter that put a swift end to his fragile feelings of contentment.

He was sitting by the window, looking out at the other world that was Muggle London, when Tom walked over to him holding a letter.

"This just arrived for you, Mr. Potter," he wheezed, handing over a small envelope addressed in green ink. "The owl is still waiting. Will there be a reply?"

"Oh, yes. Thank you," replied Harry, distantly, handing over the un-enjoyable letters he had earlier penned. Tom bowed and left, leaving Harry to open the letter.

He already knew that it was from a member of the Order, hence the ink, and presumed it had to do with some of the business he'd been involved in. His heart beat a little faster. Perhaps it was to do with the recent promising development in their search for the horcruxes?

However, upon opening, Harry found that it was regarding the three people they had been searching for recently. It read:

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_I'm sorry if this letter appears rather rushed, but preparations for the upcoming school year are increasingly taking up my time. In short, it is regarding the three individuals we recently began searching for. Sadly, there has so far only been one positive result._

_Martha Prewett has been found, and has most willingly joined the Order of the Phoenix. She was discovered living it North-Western Wales, helping on a sheep farm. It appears that many of her memories have been suppressed, but upon prompting, she was able to reveal that she began living there when forced to leave Scotland due to the Death Eaters' attack on her family. But of course, you know all about that by this time._

_Secondly, and far less promisingly, we have found no trace of Draco Malfoy. We have heard a rumour -though it is no more than that- that he has fled the Death Eaters. I know that this case is of special interest to you, and you are no doubt aware of the danger this course of action would have placed him in. I can assure you that we will contact you immediately should we find any clue of his whereabouts._

_Finally, and most upsettingly, is news on Narcissa Malfoy. She was recently discovered in a small farm in the East of England, some two hundred miles from her family's manor. She, along with the residents of the farm, had been killed by use of the Avada Kedavra curse. It is with regret that I must inform you of this, but it does add weight to the story of Master Malfoy's flight. If he has indeed left lord Voldemort's side, it is important that we discover exactly when, in order to determine whether her death was before or after this incident._

_I will contact you again shortly, as you are no doubt aware, and immediately should any especially important events occur._

_Sincerely, Professor Minerva McGonagall_

The letter slipped from Harry's hands, onto the table. As it slid downwards, it left a long paper cut. The blood welled up, an angry red line across his left palm, interrupting his lifelong reminder not that he _must not tell lies_, but he did not react.

Narcissa was dead. How could he tell Draco? Perhaps he already knew, in which case Harry couldn't understand why he hadn't told him already. Either way, he wasn't sure how to react to something like this.

His hands dropped into his lap, and he sat there, practically frozen to the spot. He couldn't even move when he heard Draco approach behind him.

"What's the matter? Have you seen a ghost or something?" Draco enquired, before leaning down to pick up the letter. _Coward- do you really want him to find out like that?_ Harry whispered inside himself- but he couldn't seem to get his mouth to work, to precede the harsh news Draco was about to get with some word or warning.

He watched as the blond boy scanned the letter, impassive for the first part, lip curling slightly with the irony of the second, face abruptly becoming impassive as he reached the third. He didn't react at all, just carefully placed the letter on the table and sat down opposite Harry.

There was a long pause. Harry couldn't seem to lift his gaze from the table, though he still felt like a coward for doing so. At the least, he should say something.

"I'm- I'm so sorry, Draco. I only just got it," he managed.

Draco seemed now to be having some difficulty breathing, and it took some discernable effort to choke out his next words.

"It isn't your fault, Harry. It's okay. I guess I'd just hoped that she would be safe there, and now I know that she- she wasn't."

_I guess it happened after he ran_ Harry thought, perhaps a little unfeelingly, but he was still somewhat shocked. Hadn't he wondered just the other day what would happen to Narcissa now Draco had fled the Death Eaters? It seemed like such cruel irony.

"So, this did happen after you left the Death Eaters, then?" he enquired, trying to sound as non-invasive as possible. Draco nodded numbly.

"It must have been to punish me for running. She told me I should leave. I'd failed another mission- there was no way he would've let me off. I was so terrified of him; I just did as she said. She told me she knew somewhere she'd be safe, and that father would be fine, what with being in Azkaban." He looked up at Harry and, and a frown passed across his features.

"What is it?" Harry asked, perplexed.

Draco continued to stare at him, and then continued, "Wasn't she under your protection? I thought, what with Dumbledore suggesting it and all, that- I mean, you were there, on the tower. You said you were, didn't you?"

"I- yes, I was. I was there, and I know Dumbledore said we'd keep her safe, but that was only if you joined our side-"

Draco rose abruptly. "You mean, just because Severus killed him and dragged me away before I could even reply to his proposition, you let my mother get murdered?" His voice was filling with a bitter fury, and there was nothing Harry could do to stop it. He understood only too well the feeling of helplessness that followed the death of someone close to you. Hadn't he reacted in almost exactly the same way when Sirius died? He had learned, now, but this was quite possibly the first time Draco had been forced to endure something quite like this.

"You just let her die, because I didn't run in time? Didn't any one of you even stop to think that I probably wouldn't want to stick with the Death Eaters having just failed a mission so spectacularly, having had my whole family threatened if I didn't succeed?"

The few people scattered around the room were staring openly by this point, and one actually screamed as Draco upturned the table at which he and Harry had been sitting, sending the letter sliding across the wooden floor.

"This is _your_ fault!" Draco shouted pulling his wand on Harry. "You were there, you should have told your stupid Order what they should do. You've let my mother _die_, Potter!"

Harry slowly pulled out his own wand, only too aware that Draco had once almost used an Unforgivable on him. "Draco, please-" he began, in a vain attempt to reason with him.

"No! Shut up, there is nothing, _nothing_ you can say. You killed my mother, you let them kill her, I'll _kill_ you!"

He raised his wand, eyes full of silver flames, and began to form a word, but-

"_Stupefy!"_ Harry screamed. There was a flash of red light, and Draco flew backwards, hitting the wall with enough force to knock a chunk of plaster out.

Harry lowered his wand and stood, staring at the boy's prone form. He hadn't wanted to do that, but he knew what could've happened otherwise. He had no idea how Draco would be when he came to, but he sincerely hoped that, as with Harry himself, a physical shock would bring Draco to his senses.

Perhaps Harry should have seen it coming. Nevertheless, when reading the letter, all he knew was that he didn't want it to have happened. Childish as it may seem, he couldn't make himself think beyond that.

Harry sat with Draco until he came to, which was somewhere around 11pm. He hoped, as he saw his eyes beginning to open, that he had calmed down by this point. Still, he was taking no chances.

He leaned over the almost awake boy, and whispered to him an explanation of what had happened.

"Draco," he murmured, "Please, let me say this.

"Yes, I feel incredibly guilty about not doing more for Narcissa, but I'm not an idiot; I knew -hoped- you might run, and I didn't just leave her to be killed. I'm sorry I didn't say sooner. Your mother was being constantly followed, up to a point about 30 miles from her destination. She noticed her followers then, and ended up drugging them. Needless to say, many sceptics from the Order were shocked she hadn't just killed them and had done with it.

"By the time they awoke, she was gone- I got a letter detailing the incident two days ago. Apparently before they found her again, some Death Eaters did. I'm so, so sorry, but please, don't think badly of the Order for this. I know –and I mean that, I _know_- how painful this is, and how much hate you must feel for the people who let her die, not just the people who killed her.

"I'm sorry. I'll try to learn from this, to never let it happen to anyone else. That's all I can say, and hope against hope that you believe me when I say it."

Draco's eyes flickered open and found Harry. He waited a moment before replying, "I forgive you, Harry. And I'm sorry, too. I almost did something incredibly stupid to you."

Harry laughed quietly. "Nothing to worry about. I'm good at duelling."

"And I'm glad of it," replied Draco. "I would never forgive myself if I hurt you, as well as everyone else I've hurt over the years. I've caused a lot of people a lot of pain, and I know I've- annoyed you a fair amount. I wouldn't want you to come to any more harm because of me."

Harry said nothing, and Draco continued, "Thank you, as well. For stupefying me before I did anything I'd regret. For explaining just then. For- for looking after my mother as best you could."

Harry thought briefly that he seemed to be getting thanked by Draco a lot recently, and he didn't feel he really deserved it. He appreciated it nonetheless, and said as much.

"No problem. And- thank _you_ for forgiving my ineptitude, and, well, for thanking me and everything."

Draco laughed again, and said something about eloquence.

"You always bring that up," Harry said, smiling. "I don't really appreciate it, but since I just stupefied you, I'll let you off. Just this once, though."

Draco grinned up at him, and said, "I could take you anytime, as I so expertly demonstrated downstairs. Besides, it's abundantly clear from your choice of spell that you're nothing but a big wimp anyway. I was about to use an unforgivable, and you _stupefied_ me? Honestly, how old are you?"

Harry laughed, and said, "You're clearly unstable. I'll leave you to get a bit more sleep, in the hope that it'll help you think more clearly."

"Alright. Night, Harry."

"Night, Draco"

He leaned forwards, then stopped abruptly, unsure of what he'd been about to do. Instead, he stood up, and said, "I'll let you know anything that happens as soon as I know it, okay? It was- it was unfair of me not to say that she was being followed. I should have told you."

"Like I said, don't worry about it."

Harry smiled, heart still beating a little too fast for his liking, and left for his room. Perhaps it was _him_ who needed a little sleep to clear his head. His thought patterns regarding Draco at the moment were just not normal…

TBC 


	4. Day Four

**Day Four**

Harry yawned and stretched, rubbing his tired eyes. As he began slowly to wake up, thoughts started to enter his mind in a trickle. One of the first was of Draco- Harry knew he would probably be downstairs by now; the clock showed 9:42, and the blond had proven depressingly good with mornings.

Therefore, it came as somewhat of a shock to him when he got out of bed only to be confronted with the sight of the aforementioned boy, sat against the opposite wall. His eyes rose from his knees, and they gazed blankly at Harry. This look frightened him more than any sneer or contemptuous glare Draco had ever given him, such was the hollow confusion and fear his eyes now held. This wasn't the sort of look a Malfoy was supposed to have.

"Morning," said Draco, voice as empty as his stare. He held up a newspaper and murmured, "they're after me at last."

Harry stumbled over, mind wide-awake but limbs still slowed by the afterthought of sleep. He snatched the newspaper from Draco's weak, unresisting grasp and read the headline: _Death Eater Threat Issued- Ministry Baffled._

"They've sent out a message saying that the Dark Lord is winning, and that his enemies will be killed."

"Well, nothing overly original there, then," said Harry, knowing as he said it that it was probably not all that comforting.

Draco sighed, and continued. "But this is aimed specifically at traitors- at _me_. It's pretty obvious that that section of the statement is issued at traitors, though."

Scanning the article, Harry found the actual message issued. Glancing over it, he noticed immediately the piece Draco was referring to.

"When with us, a liar. When against us, a traitor. When alive, an embarrassment. When dead, an example. Time now only exists to wait- the Dark Lord will prevail,'" he quoted. "Well, it kind of sounds like they just haven't got to grips with complex sentences, but I don't think that's what they're driving at."

When Draco next spoke, his voice was muffled, his head on his arms.

"I guess it's pretty self-explanatory."

Harry dropped the paper and sat down next to Draco. He reached out a hand to pat him consolingly, then pulled it back, deciding against it.

"Look," he began, awkwardly. "Ron and the other Weasleys are coming tomorrow. I haven't told them you're here, but if I do, they may be able to come earlier. I know you're not exactly their biggest fan, but it might be safer and- and it's not as if you're all that crazy about me, either."

Draco snorted, and said, "Actually, I quite like you. But that's not the point. I don't think I'd be any safer with the red-haired horde here. Better not to let anyone know I'm around. They can come as they would normally- the best way to keep them acting naturally is to keep them ignorant about my presence as long as possible. I'm fine just staying here with you, anyway. You're definitely the person I'd most like to have with me in a fight against a load of Death Eaters, at least."

Harry briefly recalled the prophecy, and the fact that it seemed that only Voldemort could kill him. Still, he didn't want to take any chances- the words from that little glass ball probably wouldn't feel so important if he had an Avada Kedavra heading towards him. He also remembered that he hadn't even told Ron or Hermione about it, and yet he felt a strange need to tell Draco. He held himself back- now was not the time. This was not about him.

"I'm just lucky," he mumbled.

"Well, I hope your luck lasts, that's all I can say." Perhaps it was just a trick of the light, but Harry could have sworn that Draco's eyes were glistening.

He was suddenly gripped by a fierce emotion, one he didn't recognise and couldn't name. He felt the need to act- he _wasn't_ going to let anyone hurt Draco, not when he'd only just found him.

He grabbed Draco by the shoulders, and the boy's head jerked up, eyes wide now, shock the foremost emotion. Harry's own eyes were burning with an intensity Draco hadn't ever seen there before.

"I won't let them hurt you," Harry almost growled, and his words were so strong that Draco felt almost afraid. He was in that moment radiating such strength, such irrefutable power, as he'd only ever seen in Dumbledore before. He continued, voice not wavering for a moment.

"I swear it. I don't turn my back on people; I don't lie to my friends about this sort of thing. There is no way in hell any Death Eater scum is going to get anywhere near you. I don't know why you ran from them, but running doesn't make you a coward. It makes you one of the bravest people I know, and they won't take you away from me."

Draco's shoulders were trembling under Harry's hands, his face only inches away. They were so close, it was almost as if they were about to-

"Room service!" chirped a voice from the door. Harry hastily pulled his hands away, and called in a very different voice, "um, I'm not dressed. Could you come back in ten minutes?" There was a word of assent, and the sound of footsteps. After a couple of seconds, Harry straightened up, face burning.

"Uh, well, sorry if I sounded patronising or…" _gay_, his inner voice sniggered, "or anything. I know you can look after yourself and stuff, and I didn't mean to sound like I was questioning that or anything. I just wanted to let you know that you really can count on me. I mean, we've hardly been the closest of friends before, but… well, you get what I'm saying." He looked up at Draco awkwardly, and was surprised to see that he was very slightly pink in the face.

Draco hurriedly replied, "No, no! It didn't sound like that at all! Really, thanks for not hating me now. I'm glad we're past all that, even if it does seem a little strange. I'm honestly grateful and, um, I'll leave you to get changed and stuff now."

Harry laughed at little at how identically awkward they sounded, and said, "Thanks Draco. Hey, they clean down the corridor from your direction, so they'll have done your room already. How about I see you in there in a few minutes?"

Draco made a small choking noise, and Harry hastily added, "So we can _talk!_ Yeah, talk about your situation and what's going to happen and things. Okay?"

Still apparently unable to speak, Draco nodded, and left the room.

Harry walked over to a chair and collapsed into it when he had gone. What on earth had all that been? Draco wasn't _Ginny_, for goodness' sake, why had he almost…almost…

He put his head in his hands and tried to rationalise what he'd almost done. This was made especially difficult by the small and persistent voice inside his head, which kept muttering, _but it makes sense, doesn't it? He's the only person who you can't possibly hurt, and let's face it; you've been obsessed with him for years. Seen from a different angle, someone could almost have said that you liked him, right? Then there're the butterflies you get practically every time he touches you._

"Arg," he said, in a defeated way.

Okay, so even if he accepted this devastating thing which had crept up on him actually, thank you very much, and was totally unwanted, there was no way it could ever work. For one thing, Draco would obviously never feel the same way about him.

Once again, that irritating voice appeared and made him examine the facts. _He never breaks your gaze; he didn't turn away just then; he was most definitely blushing; he's already said that he likes someone "unexpected and unwanted" and who his father would highly disapprove of. Obvious, really._

"Erg," Harry tried, in the hope that prefixing 'rg' with random vowels may make this painful epiphany a little easier to bear. As it was, he was incredibly annoyed with himself for not being able to stop internally cursing that cleaning witch

for her timing.

Forcing himself to get up and do something, Harry rose and dressed, still most definitely in a confused daze. What on earth was he going to do when he went into Draco's room? His _room_, for goodness' sake! Harry was sure it was his subconscious that had made that suggestion, as he really didn't trust his conscious self to go in there and just talk.

What was he getting himself into? Hermione, Ron and family would be here tomorrow! This time, it was most of him that said, well then, you've got no time to lose. They'll be interrupting you two constantly when they're here.

Harry marvelled briefly at the fact that it could apparently take only 7 minutes to realise you have a big gay crush on someone you've only really liked for a couple of days, and that he probably feels the same way about you.

With one final "urg", he walked into the corridor, and over to Draco's room.

It was strange that knocking on that wood was almost harder than fighting a duel with the darkest and most evil wizard on the planet, but Harry did it anyway. A quiet, "come in" was the reward for his efforts. It took just as much strength of will to turn the handle and swing open the door, and Harry wondered a tad inanely whether that deserved a reward too.

Draco was sat on his bed, leaning against the wall as he had earlier, the newspaper at his side. He looked up at Harry and said, "So. Talking is good."

Harry swung the door closed and walked over towards Draco with as purposeful an air as he could manage. He tried not to let his gaze move as he leaned forwards, or his voice waver as he said, "The only thing I need to say is that I think I've been incredibly stupid. And I hate that cleaning witch."

A small, startled smile appeared on Draco's pale lips as Harry leaned forward and pressed them with his own. They parted willingly, and in those few brief moments, Harry felt peace, and he felt acceptance. It was strange that this was the one thing he had wanted for all this time, and he hadn't even realised it.

He pulled back, a small smile now on his own face too.

"Sorry if I seem a little insensitive about your fate," he said, gesturing at the newspaper as he sat down. "I guess I'm being pretty selfish, but I'm damned if I care."

Draco laughed, and it was a laugh of unadulterated joy and affection, the sort of sound Harry had never really considered could come from a Malfoy mouth. Then again, there were definitely other things he hadn't really thought about in association with a Malfoy mouth, and kissing was one of them. Didn't stop it being good.

"I tell you what, I forgive you." Malfoy murmured to Harry. He gave a smile of pure happiness, and said, "I guess you weren't quite as unattainable as I'd thought. Can't say I'm all that devastated."

There was a moment of shyness between them, and then Harry said, "Would you mind if I kissed you again?"

Another light laugh came from Draco, and a happy nod.

They leaned forwards, noses touching, before tilting their heads up so their mouths met. Draco let out a soft sigh, and Harry shivered inwardly at the sound. He could feel Draco's warmth through his lips and tongue, and a closeness he'd never felt before- not with Cho, not even with Ginny.

Harry found he could feel Draco's hands tangled in his hair, his own hands resting at the nape of that smooth, slim neck. His eyes closed, he was relying almost entirely on his sense of touch to guide him. He couldn't say he minded particularly.

They broke apart, and rested their foreheads together. Draco's eyes were still closed, his now rose-coloured lips parted. He looked beautiful and fragile in a way that Harry could never have expected, and in a way that made him want to hold him tightly, to protect him from everything that was conspiring to tear him away from Harry, from life.

"I guess," he whispered, "Now you can be sure I'm not going to let them hurt you. Not in a million years."

Draco smiled weakly, and his eyes looked sad once more- something Harry didn't want to see ever again, actually.

"I'm sure," came the reply, "But I'm just as sure I don't want to be the reason for you getting hurt." Harry found himself a little distracted by the delicate hand now tracing some pattern on his right palm. Draco continued, "So you have to promise me you won't get too overprotective. I don't want to feel useless, even if I am." He paused, then said, "I don't suppose I'm making that much sense."

"Honestly, you are. I'm the same- I don't like to feel dependant. But please, I'm actually begging you not to put yourself in any danger. Well, any more than you're already in, at any rate. The Weasleys and Hermione will be here tomorrow, and we'll hopefully be able to get you someplace a little safer than this pub."

For some reason, this made Draco laugh. Harry looked at him, shocked, and waited for him to explain.

"The… the Weasleys!" he gasped. "I wonder what they'll say when they see me here? I wonder what they'll say when they find out that me and you are, y'know."

At this, Harry laughed too. "I'm not sure," he admitted, "But I'm definitely not keeping you a secret! They can say what they want." He pulled Draco in closer, the two of them still laughing. "I'm not letting you go."


	5. Epilogue

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Harry Potter series, or anything like that, so don't sue me! I'm poor and I'll cry profusely…

Warning: This fic does contain slash (Harry/Draco), though not extreme. If that doesn't appeal to you, this probably isn't the fic you should be reading right now… I know, I've said this all before, but anyway!

A/N: Wow…this is it! The end of an era! This is the last bit of my little wander into the land of Harry Potter fanfics, and it's been fun! I hope you've enjoyed reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it (i.e. a lot), and will equally enjoy this mini little epilogue! Please, please read and review, especially if you have any criticisms. I mean, a kind review is great- I really appreciate them all- but a bit of constructive criticism never hurt anyone…much! I beg you though… no flames! Pleeeeease! So anyway, I'll shut up now. On to the fic…

Epilogue 

It was mid-afternoon, and the room was filled with the warm haze of sunlight. It was the sort of day when everything seems slow and leisurely, where you can't bring yourself to really do anything much, and two people were currently taking advantage of the mood as fully as possible.

Harry was sitting on the large, red sofa (one of the comfortable, squashy variety), hands running idly through Draco's hair. The pale-skinned boy was reclined onto Harry's lap, eyes closed in an expression of relaxed ecstasy, as a faint smile played across his lips. The two already seemed like an old couple, as comfortable in each others' presence as they could be.

"Hey, Harry," Draco mumbled, suddenly, without opening his eyes. "I'm kind of nervous. D'you think they'll still hate me?"

Harry looked thoughtful for a moment, before replying, "No, I don't think so. Well, Ron won't be easy to win over, and I doubt the twins will be happy, but Ginny has a good head on her shoulders, and Hermione's always been fairly objective. I couldn't really say how Mr. and Mrs. Weasley will take the news."

Half opening his eyes at last, Draco grinned up at Harry.

"What, the news that I'm here, the news that I'm probably not an evil little prick, or the news that we're dating?"

The two laughed, and Harry murmured, "Any of them. But I don't care how they react. They'll just have to like you or lump you, won't they, because there's no way in hell I'm letting you go."

Draco turned, raising his head up to a level with Harry's. He kneeled on the crouch and, leaning forward, whispered, "My, how very romantic of you."

Harry smiled indulgently, leaning forwards to catch Draco's lips with his own. It was such a casual and natural gesture of affection, but it still hadn't lost any of the novelty and unexpectedness of their first kiss. So, as Harry's hands rose to Draco's hair, and Draco rested his arms around the other's shoulders, they were totally lost in the moment, perfectly ignorant of the world around them.

Unfortunately, this meant that neither of them noticed the flames in the grate turning emerald green, and a certain redheaded figure stepping into the room, only to see the two of them in a position that definitely implied that any interruptions would be extremely unwelcome.

"Harry! How've you-" Ron froze mid-step, seemingly just noticing the pair before him, who quickly broke apart. They turned to face him, limbs still entangled but faces now separate, with twin expressions of absolute innocence on their faces.

Ron apparently regained the power of speech, and, stumbling backwards, all but screamed, "H-Harry! It's Draco Malfoy! He's imperiused you, he must have!" He rushed forwards, reaching for his wand, and shouted, "GET OFF MY FRIEND YOU FILTHY DEATH EATER SCUM!"

Finally recovering himself, Harry pushed Draco upright, steeped in front of him, and said, "Ron, I'm not imperiused, and he's not a Death Eater. Sorry it's a bit sudden and all, but would you mind putting your wand away?"

Ron still stood there, wand raised but not doing anything, eyes darting around the room. He drew in a shuddering breath, and muttered, "Harry. You were- _kissing_ Draco Malfoy. On the lips. On a sofa."

Harry entwined his fingers with Draco's, and the two stood very close to each other, facing Ron.

"I know," said Harry in a soothing voice. "But it's okay. Honestly it is."

Seemingly unable to help himself, Draco muttered, "Besides, it wasn't exactly the first time."

Seemingly unable to take this interjection, Ron raised his arm as though to throw a hex at Draco. Without thinking, Harry stepped in front of him once more, reaching for his wand, before-

"Expelliarmus!" Harry's and Ron's wands flew through the air, to land in the outstretched hand of Mrs. Weasley.

"What are you boys doing? And- goodness me- why is Mr. Malfoy here?"

Her eyes, along with the eyes of all the others who had arrived while the pair almost duelled, had already strayed to the joined hands of Harry and Draco. A small smile was playing around Hermione's mouth, and Harry could have sworn she whispered, "I _knew _it!" under her breath. Everyone else, though, was looking shocked and questioning.

"Um- well, this is- the thing is…" Harry didn't quite know how to explain this to all the enquiring faces before him. Ron was at least looking a little less murderous with Hermione beside him. "What I'm trying to say is-"

"Oh for goodness' sake," sighed Draco. He turned his face to Harry's and pressed a long kiss to his lips. Harry was both unsettled and amused by the mischievous glimmer in his silvery eyes, and accepted the sudden kiss with the thought; _I suppose I wasn't explaining it very well, was I?_

They broke apart, smiling only slightly sadistically, and turned to see the reactions of the people before them.

"Live with it," grinned Draco, his hand still tightly clasped in Harry's.

Fin 

A/N: There we go: the end! I hope you liked it, but sorry if it was a bit substandard- I wrote this chapter in under an hour before rushing off for a holiday. Please review, and keep an eye out for my upcoming stories. Support the cause! Read slash! Bai bai!


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